


With A Little More Politeness

by thornwhipped



Series: tornado lessons [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Face-Sitting, Light Dom/sub, Light Masochism, M/M, Molly continues to be a bratty sub, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 11:44:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14715386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thornwhipped/pseuds/thornwhipped
Summary: Maybe he can be taught a lesson in manners.





	With A Little More Politeness

**Author's Note:**

> So I heard there was some interest in trying the other way to shut Molly up.
> 
> As before, this fic uses non-traditionally-masculine terms for a trans male character's genitals, fyi if that's something you'd rather not read.

"I think I'm going to stay right here, actually. It's high-quality grass. Very comfortable." Molly curls his bare toes into the ground. His pants are still around his ankles, boots kicked off at the start of this, and his knees are still pleasantly unsteady enough that the whole getting-up process can wait until a future date.

"If you're not recovered yet, I can wait," Fjord says, looking dubious, looking like he can't stand to wait another minute, really. Doesn't he understand that some people are just lazy and happy to keep going with the very nice sex exactly where they fell down? Molly would like to know where the hell he's taking all of this self-control from, and what exactly he can do to make it stop. Roll over until his head's pillowed against one of those tense thighs, perhaps, and press a fangy kiss to it through the fabric.

"Interesting point," he says cheerfully, "but what I'd really like to know is why you're not sitting on my face yet." Honestly, what is it with all these questions? As long as nobody asks him to walk anywhere any time soon, he's perfectly fine.

Fjord's giving him another of those looks. All shrewd and aware, like he's poised to take notes. "Don't think I don't know exactly what you're doing," he drawls, "why can't you just ask for what you want, instead of trying to goad me into it?" At least he's finally started unbuckling his belt, his motions quick with tightly controlled impatience. 

Molly hums. He's paying much closer attention to each bit of skin as it's revealed than to the admonishment. Built thighs, bearing a couple of strangely-shaped scars, shading to a paler green on the inside. Fjord isn't overly bulky, just built to a bigger scale, but there's a bit of plush at his waistline that looks very grabbable. Molly licks his lips.

"Oh, I don't know. Why do you need to make me spell out exactly what I want you to do to me? It's just more fun this way."

"Because I care to know I'm doing it right, believe it or not."

"Oh, how considerate, I'm sure that's part of it. The other part, I think, is that you care about control. If you had your way, you'd have me beg to let me eat you."

Fjord stops with his pants dragged down to his knees, and the look on his face saves it from looking graceless. He likes presenting himself like a nice, straightforward guy to throw people off their step. And sure, there's probably some amount of truth to the act, but there's no hiding how sharp that mind is, how potentially wicked, and right now it shows. His eyes go narrow and his mouth curls into a tight, dangerous smile.

Molly's stomach flutters. _Oh no_ , he think, _he's got a plan_. He watches as Fjord stands up and strips with quick, disclipined motions, and then plants his feet on either side of Molly. It treats him to the most incredible view. Fjord's hand spreads over his close-cropped mound, rubbing himself, but a hard huff of breath is the only sign that he might be feeling pent up at all.

"I think you want this more than I do," he says, the fucking liar, but Molly squirms at the kernel of truth because he does want it badly. Has maybe never wanted to put his mouth on someone so much before.

" _I_  think you've got a lot of nerve saying that when you literally can't keep your hands off yourself," he shoots back, but the bait lacks barb and Fjord just grins down at him, looking far too pleased with himself, like he's come across a secret and is savoring it for all it's worth.

"No hiding that you like being used. If I was strapping it on right now I'd like to pack my cock down your throat and watch you get off just from having your face fucked. Finally get some peace and quiet out of it, keep you like that for hours, I bet you'd love that," his words come out rough with lust, and he's lazily jacking off as he speaks, his clit big and stiff between two fingers.

It's not fair to make him watch this, not fair that Fjord's hitting all these marks so easily. He does like to be used, to be  _useful_ , and he'd love to spend hours polishing a smooth carved cock with his tongue just for the gratification of having something in his mouth, for the display he'd make with his lips stretched and sloppy.

"Get the fuck down here," he tries, but damn if he doesn't sound desperate, wrecked for it, no use in trying to deny it. It'd worry him, how easily Fjord strips the deception from him at least in this, but right then those damn head games make him too hot to care. "Please let me eat you out," he starts again, because he can be all polite when he needs to be and he'll prove it, "fuck my face, grab my horns, use my mouth, use  _me_ , please." He's begging openly now, like Fjord would be doing him a favor getting his chin wet, and he loves every second of it.

 "Oh, I'm not gonna forget this," Fjord says, and Molly doesn't get the chance to ask if that's a threat or a promise before he's finally lowering himself into reach.

At this point Molly is ready to get ridden into the damn ground, but instead he has to stretch his neck for the privilege of servicing Fjord, and that suits him just fine. He starts with a sloppy openmouthed kiss to Fjord's labia, upper lip rubbing against his clit, fangs tucked carefully out of the way. He makes eye contact as he does, perfectly happy in his low vantage point.

"Now show me what else you do with that tongue except tell stories," Fjord orders gruffly. His hands are bunched into fists and his chest is rising and falling quickly beneath the leather armor that still covers it.

The hypocrisy of that is staggering but Molly hasn't got it in him to mind it just then. The glancing insult only hits him right in the place that considers a little humiliation nothing but added spice and makes him squirm. This is what his tongue's made for as much as for spinning deceit, and he's happy to show it off, stretching the length of it to cover Fjord's cunt, licking him open more and more with each lashing stroke, hearing hard breaths from above. The taste of sex is everywhere, sharp and honest and driving him wild. His chin's already a mess with it as he spikes his tongue deeper, then drags it back up, laving over Fjord's cunt from bottom to top until he slides over his clit and captures it between the split tips.

Fjord shouts and bucks against his face and then very abruptly a hand is encircling the base of Molly's horn, holding him in place right where Fjord wants him. The other strokes through his hair, not even pulling but petting, something almost patronizing in the gesture in a way that makes him flush with heat and redouble his efforts.

He sinks completely into the simple pleasure of being used. Every tight-voiced command for "deeper" or "right there" he obeys happily, goes along with the tight grip pulling him into the right spot, works his tongue and lips like he was made for nothing but this. Every once in a while he glances up to make eye contact, fully aware of the debauched picture he makes with his lips and chin slick, and every time the glance is returned it thrills him.

Fjord's big enough to suck on properly, too, which Molly does enthusiastically. A cock big enough to hit the back of his throat and stretch his mouth is fun, but this is good too, the right size for his pursed lips as he sucks him swollen, flicks his clit with his tongue, and sucks some more. The hand twisted into his hair pulls harder, yanks at the roots enough to make his eyes water, and the pain shoots through his spine to melt into pleasure halfway down. Still sore, he feels himself twitch.

Then he's dragged away rather than towards. He looks up at Fjord, breathing heavily, the smell of sex everywhere. His face is a mess, he can feel it.

"Not that hard and not for that long," Fjord orders. His grip gentles a little. "Am I pulling too much?"

"Don't you dare stop," Molly says, and licks his lips.

"Excuse me?" Fjord makes the gentleness of his touch a rebuke. "Can we have that again, but politely?" He's fairly dripping onto Molly's mouth but somehow still coherent, though bizarrely his drawl (which Molly had anticipated thickening to molasses as he got more wound up) has instead nearly disappeared.

"Please keep pulling my hair exactly this hard," Molly says. Very little can make him squirm like this, but Fjord has found a way. Molly concludes that he's an evil genius. "Please let me keep eating you out."

"Well, if you insist,"

And he isn't kept waiting for long. The grip around his horns redoubles and he's pulled in, insistently, his mouth filled too good to even let him think of backtalking. That push-pull of denying and overwhelming gets him just as hot when it's his face being ridden, he finds, as when he's the one being fucked. He's finding a rhythm now, sucking on Fjord's clit and then slathering him with lazy, sloppy strokes of his tongue, back and forth, up and down between intense suction and a wet, slow tease.

That right there is the ticket. He can feel Fjord's self-control unravelling, thighs tense next to his head and hands clutching at his horns, can practically taste him coming apart with every swirl of his tongue. He laves him from bottom to top again, flicks the forked tips of it against his swollen clit, and there's a harsh rasp of breath from above. Fjord shouts and swears above him and grips his horns tight. His hips jerk forward, again, really using his mouth now, fucking his face, rubbing himself off against the slick muscular length.

There's no room left in Molly's head for gloating. All there is is the satisfaction of servicing him, being of use, and the simple physical pleasure of spreading him open, tasting the sharp tang of him. His jaw will be sore as hell after this but it's all worth it for the fingers clutched in his hair, the thighs quivering around his face, the hoarse shout of his name as Fjord comes, convulsing over and over, riding his mouth.

Molly can't breathe. He's okay with that. Right then he's simply an instrument for Fjord's pleasure and he's glowing with it.

He keeps licking, drawing it out, for as long as he's held there, as long as he's needed, until the convulsions become rhythmless stuttering twitches and there's a wrecked note to Fjord's moans. When he releases the grip on his horns he fairly topples off of him, rolls heavily onto the grass, like his legs aren't that keen on holding him up.

Molly feels a certain spiteful satisfaction because of that, but mostly he concentrates on getting air into his lungs. He's pretty sure Fjord could choke someone out with those thighs if he really wanted to. He hums a little and looks up at the sky, still feeling a little in the grip of Fjord's impromptu discipline, thrilled and held by it. But looking over to where he's arranged in a loose boneless sprawl, his wicked grin makes a reappearance.

"Nice of you to join me. This is high quality grass, I told you," he says, and rubs his sore jaw a little.

Fjord groans. He rolls over and gives Molly the sharpest look he's capable of, which at the moment isn't saying much. 

"Doesn't last long, does it?"

"The peace and quiet? No, I'm afraid that one you have to work for."

Fjord keeps glaring. The reprimand doesn't carry all that much power with the pleasure-drunk look still spread all over his face, but he gives it a decent try.

"Don't you start with me again. First, you're gonna learn to use your words properly. Once that works, you can try goading me again."

Molly draws in a breath. Well, that certainly puts a spin on Fjord's habit of getting into his business, doesn't it? If that's how he plans to do it from now on, Molly isn't going to complain. But the hot stab of pleasure at the thought that Fjord means to _train_ him is mixed with some real surprise. He's no stranger to this sort of dynamic, but something about the seriousness of Fjord's voice makes it sound like something beyond just bed sport.

"Are you proposing some sort of arrangement?" he asks lightly, to cover the weird fluttery nervousness he suddenly feels.

"Only if you wouldn't mind being part of such a thing," Fjord says, and if the jade tint to his cheeks is anything to go by he's nervous, too. 

Good. At least that means Molly isn't alone. "Of course I wouldn't mind. Boss me around. See if it works. It'll be fun. Besides, I haven't even gotten to suck your scrimshaw strap yet, and I'm looking forward to that."

"Damn it, Molly, it's not a -- you know what? Fine. I'll have one made just for you. That make you happy?" 

"Oh, ecstatically."

Whatever he was expecting, this is turning out to be better.

**Author's Note:**

> If this sounds like I'm considering a part three, it's because I'm totally considering a part three.


End file.
